


Reanimation

by lalaluma



Category: Left 4 Dead, Left 4 Dead 2
Genre: Gen, Zombie!Ellis, some gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2018-02-04 02:33:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1763039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalaluma/pseuds/lalaluma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ellis isn't the man he used to be.<br/>[Discontinued until further notice]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reanimation

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so some quick info before I start this up.
> 
> This fic was inspired by the movie Warm Bodies, but does not follow it's storyline what so ever. If you didn't like the movie, but liked the concept, you may actually enjoy this.  
> If you haven't seen the movie, you don't have to to understand this fic, but I do recommend it as a future watch.
> 
> Also, I have no set plans on when I will update this. I do have the plot pre-planned, and am already working on the second chapter, but make no promises to update quickly. Though I do promise to update.

I'd like to say things weren't always this way, but to be honest I'm not sure thats true. I have a feeling there was a time before this, but it wasn't any different from what I remember. I was different. At least I think I was. I try not to think about it, because it brings a sharp pain in my skull and a hollow hurt in my chest, which makes me think that it must be bad to think that way. Something terrible must have happened. Something my body doesn't want to remember.

Or maybe it's because my body isn't doing so well these days.

I still have all my fingers and limbs, which is better than some of the people around me. Some of them are missing whole limbs, others smaller features like noses or ears. My nose is still attached, but from the glimpses I've caught of myself it's clearly broken. It sits at an unnatural angle and is caked in dried blood that extends to my mouth. If I bare my teeth I can see a gap in them, making me think something hit me on that side of my face, jarring loose those teeth and moving my nose. I can't say if my feet are still normal, whatever normal is, because I've long since lost the dexterity in my fingers and so removing my shoes is impossible. But I think they are. It would be convenient if they were.

Sometimes I see people who look like me, but not so covered in grime and dried blood, or missing as many body parts. They move faster, too. And sometimes they carry sweet guns? Is that what they're called? I can't quite recall. But I do remember that they hurt. At least I think they do. I don't really feel anymore, but I know they used to hurt, so I tend to stay away from those people. They run from us, anyway. I see them duck behind dumpsters and roll out of the way of hunks of pavement being chucked at them from the Tank. This seems to excite most people, but it never really got me so riled up. The sounds of the mobs and crashing of the pavement and cars actually make me uneasy, and so I run from them. If I could feel, I think I would be frightened.

Some of us cry. They cry for days on end without stopping, and when they do stop crying they're sobbing softly. I wonder if they feel. Are they in pain? Are they feeling remorse? Sorrow? What is it that makes them cry? I wish I could ask them, but my tongue doesn't work they way I believe it used to. Like everything else in my body it's become very stiff, hard to manage or move. Besides, even if I could ask them, they attack anyone who comes near, so maybe they just want to be alone. To suffer through this on their own. I do, most of the time.

The majority of my days are spent stumbling around. I keep thinking that if I keep moving maybe I'll regain some of my dexterity. I can't really tell you if it's working, or if I've gotten very far, but I keep on trying. Because it fills my empty days. Because I can. Because something about these streets, this town, maybe this whole state, seems like home. Perhaps someday I'll limp into an empty house and someone will be there waiting for me, and suddenly everything will make sense and I will remember and move the way I think I'm supposed to.

I make my way into a vacant home with the door un-hinged and look around. This isn't the place. It's hollow to me. Just a shell where I'll take shelter for who knows how long. My perception of time isn't that great. I just know that there is dark and there is light and in the dark sometimes I'm mistaken for one of the others, the ones with the weapons, by the people. They don't like that very much.

So I settle down under a bed. I'm not quite sure this is how you are _meant_ to use them, but I imagine it's safer under here. It's not like I need the luxuries of a comfortable bed anyhow, seeing as I can't appreciate them. And so I lay under my safe bed, staring at the boards that make up it's frame. I think I used to be handy with this stuff. I run my hand along the board and something snags it. I look to see a small sliver of wood stuck in my fingertip, but my fingers cannot grasp it to pull it out. Oh well, it's a part of me now. I just keep staring, when suddenly I notice it isn't dark anymore.

I must have gone into one of those trances again. If I could fell, I would probably fear them. It's as if I'm becoming more like the others, no concept of whats going around me or what's what. Or maybe that's the norm, and all this thinking is what's strange? There's no way I can know for sure. None of us are very gifted with words.

It could be hours or days or weeks from when I was under the security of my bed, as I find I'm no where I recognize. Did I black out again? How did I get here? I'm in a dimly lit room, and I think if I could smell I would smell booze, as the place is littered with empty bottles. It takes a while for my poor eyes to adjust, but it's clear now I'm not alone. A man is sitting across from me, slouched in a corner, a bottle dangling from his finger tips. I'm not entirely sure if he's alive until I accidentally kick over a stray bottle, sending him into an alert panic in which he raises a large gun at me, eyes wild. I wish I could feel like that. It looks so intense.

I raise my hands to show I mean no harm, but I believe the blood on them discourages him as much as it surprises me. What did I do to get here? I pull a hand in closer to my face, as if I could extract my memory from that thick red liquid. I'm aware that there is sound. I am straining to hear it, so I jam a finger into my ear, and a wad of gunk comes out with it. Some of it blood, bile, some waxy junk. The noise persists and it occurs to me now that its the voice of the man. It's been so long since I've heard cognitive words that weren't rattling around in my own skull, but I don't quite under stand what he's saying. It's a word I've never heard before, but he keeps saying it like it's his only life line. _Ellis_. I've no idea what it means but it must be important with the way it comes off his fevered tongue.

"Oh man, Ellis, you had us worried sick, boy!"

Is it an expression? I think I've heard it before.

"You just wait, Imma tell Rochell and Nick right now and when they come back we'll have something big! Now I donno what, but you need to eat, you look like bunch of twigs all tied together."

 **Eat.** Now that's a word I recognize. The man is babbling on, now into a small radio where other voices greet his, though they seem just as excited as he is, but all I can think about is eating. I'm starving. When was the last time I ate?

"...Ellis? You haven't said a word, boy."

I stumble toward the man, an odd noise sticking in my throat, and I think something clicks for him then.

"No... _ **no**_ , they said we was immune! Ellis! Speak to me, boy!"

His words are desperate, and I try to reply, but as usual my tongue feels too stiff to actually form words. The noises I make mean nothing. I keep moving, driven by hunger which seems to intensify the longer I stay in this room. The man is fumbling now with the gun he once held so steadily. He's shaking. Is he cold?

"Ellis, Ellis you know me! It's Coach!"

He's still got his weapon raised but I don't think he's going to fire it. He would have by now if he really wanted to. But that word...Coach...I _do_ know it. I stand still for a moment, trying to recall what it means to me. I attempt to say it, but my words are garbled. I look to the man now, squinting. I know him. How do I know him? I don't know anyone but me.

Before I can dwell on this any longer the door flies open, and in steps a young woman and another man. I know them, too. I almost...feel something for them. For all of them. Who are they? How do I know them? Are they my family? I don't understand. And neither do they from the looks of it. They all seemed stunned. The woman has clasped her hands over her mouth and looks as if she's about to start crying. I extend an arm out to stop her, but she steps back and a single tear rolls down her face. I don't want her to end up like the crying girls.

But _**why?**_

The man in the suit is unreadable to me. His emotions are too complex, his face too distorted with emotion I can't feel myself. Looking at him brings the one thing I can feel back. The pain in my head and chest. Something isn't right. Did he hurt me? Is that why I can't remember? I look away from him quickly. I think I like it better not feeling at all. I look back to the first man, squinting harder, trying to make myself make the word.

"C...Coa... _Coach_?" Oh lord my voice is craked and distorted. If these people had any sense they would kill me right now, as that word almost sounded demonic. But they don't. The first man drops his weapon completely, and I can hear behind me the woman has begun sobbing. I don't like this. I don't like any of this. These people, surrounding me, taunting me with emotions I can't have. No wonder the others attack them but for some reason I don't want to.

So I run.

I push past the crying woman and the unreadable man in the suit and nearly fall down the stairs in my haste. I just barely have my balance back when I relapse into another trance.

I startle myself when I come to, because I'm not entirely sure of what I'm looking at. If I'm looking at anything. It's so dark in here. Is it the dark time? I feel out in front of myself cautiously and find that I'm actually in a very confined place, just big enough to fit me. Did I fall and get knocked unconcious? Did the group trap me here? I push at all the walls and find the top one moves, allowing me to peek out, so I don't think they did.

It's either about to be the light time, or about to become very, very dark. I remember that there was a way to tell, but I've long since forgotten it. It had something to do with something called directions, which are a concept I can no longer comprehend. I wish I could, though. I wish I knew when it was safe, even if it's never _really_ safe.

I think about leaving my tiny home, but decide against it. I just want to stay here. Forever. I never want to see those people again. They hurt me, I think. At least the man in the suit. I'm sure of it. I touch at my broken nose, and I think he might have had something to do with me looking the way I do now.

Thats when something strange happens; and this is coming from a person who once watched a woman's ear fall right off, and then watched her proceed to eat it. I _feel_. Like really feel, not just touching and waiting for a sensation that never comes. I feel...wet. On my face. It's not the blood on my hands, as what little light I have shows me that's dried, but something like...water? Tears? These are tears, I'm positive of this. And it's so strange, to feel again, even though this seems like a numbed version of the sense.

And then I remember tears are tied to emotions. I don't really feel anything right now, inside, where emotions are kept. But I think they must be in there _somewhere_ if I'm crying now, and I think I hate it. I don't want to feel. I want to sit in my small home and I want to close the lid and I want to never, ever come out. I don't think it's possible for me to starve, but I can try. I slip to the bottom into one of the corners and sob quietly. I don't close the lid. It keeps getting darker, so no one will see me if I don't.

Then I sleep, which is something I can't really remember ever doing before now vividly, but have warm memories of. I dream that I can move freely. I dream I can run and when I fall I'm not stuck there for a while, I just roll and jump up and keep on running. The world is bright and empty, and there are no sweet guns and there are no Tanks. I'm beginning to feel something I remember as...happy. My mouth moves upward on its own and I've forgotten it can do that, that my face can contort to show emotion, even if I'm not feeling it. Then there is a voice, the larger man I met earlier, calling out that word again.

_**Ellis.**  _

I know that word! I know it! But what does it mean? Another voice joins his, and it's one I can't remember hearing, but know. I no longer feel happy. I want to cry again. And I do, I feel it, and it stays when I wake, dripping down my face with what must be a whimper. I kick out instinctively, foot meeting the close wall too soon, shooting numb pain up my leg. Another first, but not one I have time to explore. There are foot steps approaching my tiny home.

A light shines through the opening between the roof and walls of my safe space, followed by a rough looking hand adorned in dented, shiny rings, and I try to sink further into my space but it doesn't work. He knocks off my roof entirely and see's me there. He sighs with what might be relief but his eyes seem sad. Damn him and his ability to feel so complexly and his nice suit and relatively un-marred face. "I've got him." He calls out half heartedly. "He's over here."

Him? He? So I'm a him? I haven't thought about that...ever, really. I just existed. It's...nice, to have a label. Him. I like it.

Several heavy footsteps later and the large man appears. I like him. He's easy to read. He seems friendly. I can say his name, so I do. He starts to laugh somewhat nervously, but his mouth is smiling. I smile back, but his expression falls. I remember I'm missing teeth, and the ones I have are a bit bloody, so I shut my lips.

"Ellis, my boy," He speaks to me again. I think he might be my Dad. His voice is soft. I like him. "Why don't you come on out of there? We're not gonna hurt you. We just want you safe, back with us."

Back with them? I was there before? I want to ask, but words are hard, so I just shake my head no as vigoruosly as I can. I've resigned myself to live in here forever, and thats where I'm going to stay. I'm a man of his principles, I've decided. Just now. The man in the suit looks like he wants to leave me here. I still don't like him, even if I agree with him.

Coach looks upset, then he looks like he's having an idea. He runs out of veiw for a moment, and I lock eye's with the other man. He's doing that thing again, with his face and those unreadable emotions, so I snarl at him and growl, but it just makes his face worse. God, I hate his face. Coach returns with something with wheels, and gets the man in the suit to help him tip my small house off the ground and onto the contraption. They begin to roll me away, but stop when I turn and reach my hand out toward my roof and whine.

The man in the suit rolls his eyes, and shoots back "Well, he's still an overgrown child, so hey, maybe you're right! Maybe we can salvage him!" He sounds excited, but also insincere. Coach grimaces at him, and I try to mimic the expression as the man returns with my roof, returning it to my awaiting hands.

I make my home whole again, but keep having to adjust the roof to fit back on right when we hit bumps or shift. They can move me wherever they like. It doesn't matter. I'm not leaving my home, and they can't make me. I don't care who they were to me before. If it means so much to them to keep my rotting body around, then all the more power to them. The complete lack of feeling is beginning to return to me, and I welcome it.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Alright so if you like the way I write L4D2 then keep an eye out for the fic I'm probably going to upload before chapter two. It's going to be one-shot Nick/Ellis, and also in the third person, and so hopefully reads easier as it's more in my comfort zone.
> 
> The survivors find a safe house with running water, and while looking for supplies and clothes to wear while theirs are being washed stumble across a costume shop. Ellis finds a Racing Fire Suit costume, and no one has the heart to tell him he can't wear it. Even if it clings to his body that makes some of them uncomfortable and others...less uncomfortable.


End file.
